


garda síochána

by Auntaggie



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Ireland, Memory Loss, Other, The Matrix (Doctor Who) - Freeform, The doctor has an excuse for been oblivious this time, The master been the master, Virtual reality simulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntaggie/pseuds/Auntaggie
Summary: The Master and Doctor ACTUALLY work together to un-redact her past, and it’s basically turning into a 1950s Garda!13/Master AU with an amnesiac Doctor...
Relationships: The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	garda síochána

**Author's Note:**

> Title is Gaeilge/Irish for protector of peace. Its the official name of the Irish police.

The Matrix’s efforts to hide the truth were really quite impressive, he thought examining the small china cup in his hand. He couldn’t grasp the relevant information amongst all this clutter. A tiny village full of clutter, well, people he supposed, and all of them hiding the truth of her. 

He’d created this cottage, within the Matrix program hiding the Doctor’s past. A cover like O’s MI6 badge, that allowed him to examine the redacted information at close quarters. He’d already been to the village, interacted with the inhabitants and saw – her. 

This version of the Doctor was unfailing loyal, and dutiful to the point of ignorance. So like the Doctor, but without the bitter anger. Her rage always pushed her to run from what she could do. It was strange seeing him so still. A home. A family. A job. The Doctor was positively suburban in this place. 

Was this really her? Was this her life, before him?

No. 

Sure, it was a copy of a previous redacted iteration of the Doctor, possibly more than one iteration. But it was also her. His Doctor. She’d come here with him. They’d entered the matrix together, and then she just wasn’t there. 

She wasn’t at his side, and he wondered if she had taken the opportunity to run away. Maybe she’d never taken his hand to come here with him. Maybe she’d run back to her pets instead. Or, most likely the Doctor who’d always preferred ignorance over hard truths had tumbled head long into the matrix simulation and decided this was better. 

She was hiding in this place, pretending to be the dutiful soldier. _Happy_ he thought bitterly. He saw her today. Well, him. It was getting hard to keep track. He’d been talking to a little old lady about the weather. He’d stood outside the post office smiling and laughing at the old woman’s predictions.

The Master couldn’t remember seeing this incarnation of the Doctor laugh. She’d smiled at O, sneered at him, but he’d never seen such carefree joy in her face before. It wasn’t her face now. This new incarnation was tall and broad. And ginger – he wasn’t sure about the ginger yet. But this simulated Doctor was so unlike any of their other flamboyant personas. 

And he was happy. 

Without him. 

It was fucking unacceptable. 

He flung the small cup across the room, watched it shatter against the mantle of the fireplace. It was a satisfying sound. 

He sighed. He’d have to save her from this too. The same way he always saved the Doctor from her stupid delusions. Maybe it’d be easier to prove to her that this world needed to be torn down, seeing as it wasn’t even real. He could already hear her protests, like she was here, and he was actually suggesting they torture the village’s inhabitants. 

But maybe that would work. He could torture and murder a few innocent humans who weren’t real or human, and she’d remember him. She’d sneer at him, and rail against his worst urges but eventually she’d remember him. And in remembering her Master, she’d remember herself. 

His scheming was interrupted by a knock on his front door, and he almost growled as he went to answer. Maybe he could start the torture sooner than expected. 

Except, he pulled the door open, and there she – he was. Tall and Broad. Still ginger. The Master didn’t move, unsure how to interact with this version of the Doctor.

“Mr Saxon isn’t it? Sorry to intrude but it’s fierce weather out there,” the young man said already brushing past the Master and stepping into his temporary home. 

And then the matrix glitched or adapted to the blueprint his consciousness provided. Or was it her? The young man became the blonde Doctor. She looked ridiculous in that uniform, but it suited her. Of course, the Matrix picked the only police force in all the Universe that refused to carry guns. She took off the hat and brushed a hand through her wet hair. He had to admit, he kind of liked the hat. 

She looked at him, obviously awkward, and he inclined his head, looking back at her. Had she found him after all, or was this a Doctor unaware of the construct? 

He continued to hold the door open, eyes narrowed. 

“I’m Garda Brendan,” she said cheerily. “Bridie in town, said you’d moved in here, so I said I’d pop down and introduce myself. We don’t get many visitors round here, and certainly not – well,” she looked around awkwardly. “You’re welcome,” she finally finished. 

The Master narrowed his eyes at her, looking for any spark of recognition. There was suspicion there but no, she didn’t know him.

“Are you not going to close the door? You’re letting all the cold in.” 

He sighed and did as told, resigned to playing his part again. The dutiful spy. It wouldn’t be half as much fun without real humans to place in danger anyway. The torture could wait.

It had been awhile since he’d played his part for an audience of one. He turned back with a soft smile on his face, reminiscent of her favourite spy, O. “Sorry I just wasn’t expecting visitors, especially so late. Would you like some tea?” 

“Sure,” she said, happily following him into the small sitting room. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your first name.” 

“Harry,” he provided. 

He glared down at the shattered cup on the floor, waiting for her snide comments. They didn’t come, which was a nice change. She took a seat across from the fire and he excused himself to the kitchen to retrieve two more mugs. 

She watched him carefully as he poured the tea. He casually asked if she wanted milk or sugar. His attempt to play the perfect host was almost scuppered as she heaped several spoons of sugar into her tea. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he sat down beside her. Maybe his Doctor was much closer to the surface than he’d thought. 

They made small talk, and it was comfortable in front of the fire. It was like texting, except here he could see the sparkle in her eye and some of his gentle smiles were even genuine. Still it wasn’t long before the Doctor got to the point of her visit, with her trademark tact. 

“Do you have family in the area Harry?” she asked.

“Not anymore,” the Master said honestly. 

The Doctor hmmed, looking too closely at him. So suspicious, this Doctor. “It’s just we don’t get a lot of visitors.”

He tried to laugh good naturedly. “I promise, I’ve only the very best intentions Brendan. I’m here doing some historical research actually. It’s a beautiful village, with a fascinating history,” he added, hoping to steer her in the direction of their real purpose here.

The Doctor nodded and chose her next words carefully. “There’s something you should know then. The people here, they don’t like outsiders.” 

The Master felt his mask slip, as he glared at the woman opposite him. Damn the Matrix for choosing that backward little planet for its simulation. He didn’t survive 77 years on Earth, in this skin, so she could throw it in his face. She should know better. She would know better if it wasn’t for this damn construct.

But the Doctor in any guise had never been cowed by him, and she continued on. “It’s just – people don’t like talking about the past. It brings up too many bad memories, you see.” He didn’t. Was she talking about Gallifrey’s past or Earth’s past? “And someone like you,” she paused to give him a pained look and he only felt his anger grow. “They might not be willing to answer your questions.”

“Someone like me,” he said coldly.

“Well, yes. The war is long over, but a lot of people round here, they fought, and the old prejudices remain.”

“I’m not a fascist, Brendan. And I thought your people were –,” he searched for a word that wasn’t _cowards_ and settled on, “neutral.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re right on both accounts there,” she smiled broadly at him. Like the smiles she used to share with O. “I meant as an Englishman, with no connection to the area…” she paused again. “You could anger people if you go about asking questions.”

The Master resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was bloody impossible to keep track of the number of tribal grievances on this planet. He didn’t know how the Doctor could bear to spend so much time here.

And the beautiful irony of her saying that in an accent that sounded so like a lass from Yorkshire made him smile. She really couldn’t hear herself.

The urge to sneer and shout and throw another cup left him. He tried a different tact. The Master leaned towards the Doctor; his voice so low it’s almost a whisper. “Don’t you think it’s important though? To know the truth of your own past.” 

She blinked and all the warmth left her face. Her head had pulled back at his words, as she glared at him. He could see the beautiful tears forming in her eyes. All that rage and sorrow. His Doctor. He wanted nothing more but to watch them fall. But shit, that was not the plan. This was not his Doctor. This was the orphan. The child who had never known their past and he’d just reminded them of that. Strategic retreat. 

“I can be discreet,” he said hurriedly, reaching for her wrist. And he hated himself in that moment. He hated the sound of his voice; whining and weak. Like he was begging for scraps of her attention. Like he was back in that Vault. But wait, it might be worth it. The Doctor blushed, and she didn’t pull away. “With my questions,” he added for propriety’s sake. Even though he doesn’t think this version of the Doctor would be adverse to his attentions, given time. How much time did they have in here?

“I don’t want to hurt or anger anyone,” he lied. “I just want to do my research, and I would be grateful to have a friend in the village.” He patted her hand awkwardly, wishing he could take it in his but withdrawing for now. “It’s important to me,” he added. 

“Why do you want to know? Why, this village?” she asked quietly. 

“A friend of mine. He came from here, and he fought in a different war.” The Doctor nodded in understanding, thinking she knew what he was talking about. “We fought on the same side and – “ 

He trailed off, giving her a chance to fill in the blanks. 

“You lost him,” she concluded. 

“Yes.” It’s not a lie, not really. He’d lost the Doctor long before the Time War. So long ago that he couldn’t really remember the reason why. But he’d lost him. “He wasn’t a fighter. Got shot for desertion in the end.” The Master turned away and hid a smirk behind his hand, trying to affect the pose of a grief-stricken lover. 

It seemed to work. She reached for him this time. Her hand on his shoulder, and yes, this was a much better solution to his problem. Of course, the Doctor wouldn’t help a historian. They sneered at historians. Well the Doctor sneered. The Master usually incinerated them. But a man on a mission to remember and mourn his lost comrade, his lost lover even. Well the Doctor could never resist a sob story.

He sighed and tried to act like a man composing himself after an emotional moment. “I’m sorry. He didn’t talk about his life here, but I found out where he came from. So, I’m just here to – to find him, I suppose.”

“It’s a difficult thing,” the Doctor said. “Moving on after something like that.”

The Master nodded but said nothing. Waiting. 

The Doctor sighed and he knew he’d won. “If It’s important to you, I’d be happy to show you around the village.”

“I’d really like that,” the Master replied. He didn’t have to hide his smile this time. 

Any version of the Doctor who would fall for such an obvious ploy, wouldn’t see the hint of malicious glee in his features.

**Author's Note:**

> 10/03/2020 - EDITED slightly because the pronouns were just annoying me and then I found a few niggly things I wanted to change. Thanks for all the kudos folks, glad you enjoyed it x


End file.
